Unloved?
by C. T. Torris
Summary: Troubled 16 year old Meg reminds Jesse of his troubled past. Can they both make it with their sanity intact? Chapter 13 up now. Thanks for all of the reviews, and please keep reviewing!
1. Jesse's Rumination

            After some reviews about my opening author's note and much thought (and my friend's astonishment after reading it), I have decided to remove it.  I haven't altered the story in any way, just the opening thought.  Have a nice day! 

~~~*~~~

_Today was hard,_ I think to myself as I snap the rubber gloves off of my hands and throw them in the biohazard bin.  _Three major car pileups, a couple of shooting victims are easy, but Meg, that was hard_.  Meg is my neighbor a couple of floors down.  She is 16 years old, but she acts like she's a mature adult; a bit stuffy, polite, and seemingly stable.  But she's been hurt somewhere.  I thought she was before, but today has sealed that observation in my mind.  

When they brought her in, with a breathing tube and IV's, I didn't think suicide.  Suicide is for those who are mentally unstable, isn't it?  Maybe Meg is mentally unstable.  But she didn't show it.  _Neither did I_, a little voice in my head whispers.

~~*~~

It's hard being a kid when your mother isn't around, or even worse, you think your mother doesn't love you.  

I know this.  

I lived this.  

I live this.  

Yes, 12 years after moving out, I still have the same insecurities that I'm not worthy enough for my mom.  

I love my mom, but she is such a difficult person to reckon with.  I once told her I didn't feel loved.  She laughed at me and sent me to my room.  After she yelled at me for being ungrateful and gluttonous.  So, what do I do?  I thought I could become a doctor.  I thought, _My mom is a doctor.  She'll be proud of me and love me if I become a doctor_.  That was flawed thinking.

The depression and the unloved feeling got so bad when I was 16, I couldn't think of any way out besides the ugly _s_ word.  

Suicide.  

Mom was going on one of her medical conferences again.  I thought I had it so well planned out.  Actually I did.  Thankfully Mom forgot her airplane ticket and had to turn back.  She found me; an empty bottle of pain pills in hand, me in a deep sleep.  I don't remember anything except waking up at the hospital.  I was in a coma for a week, and kept in the psych ward for two weeks.

I panicked because I missed a month of school. _My grades are going to get so low, and I can't get into medical school_.  

I cried myself to sleep the night before the first day I went back.  And every day until I left home for college.  

I went off to college, and even though I was out of the house, I still felt depressed and unloved.  Then I met Rick, or Slick Rick, as I liked to call him.  We roomed together, and one night as I was crying myself to sleep, he caught me.  We talked and missed classes the next day.  I don't remember what we talked about, but I felt something lift for the first time ever.  I wasn't happy, yet, but I wasn't so depressed.  For the first time, I could talk to my mom and not feel drained.

Then I got into med school.  I was hailed to be a bright student by most of my professors, but self-doubt still plagued most of my thought processes, and I didn't hear their compliments.  Instead, I pushed myself harder to try to make up for my perceived lacking.  

I graduated top of my class from medical school.  And then it was time for internships.  I went to college and Med School close to home (to Mom), and was beginning to feel suffocated.  I wanted to get away, so I looked for programs on the West Coast.  I found what I felt like was the perfect program.  Community General Hospital in LA.  The graduated intern reports were like music to my ears. "Dr. Mark Sloan is the greatest teacher and friend.  Roller skates and rap is optional, but a lot of fun," pretty much was the standard review.  I **_HAD_** to get in.

Lo and behold, guess where I was standing (running) three months later.  I couldn't believe I got in.  I also couldn't believe what I got myself into.  Mark's son, Steve, is a police detective. A homicide detective with the LAPD.  Mark also likes to solve murders.  He also has gotten kidnapped by a convicted murderer (who wasn't guilty), have someone try to kill him (several people, several times), and get arrested (wasn't guilty).

Self-doubt still plagues me most of the time, but I've learned how to push it away.  And besides, with Mark, Steve, and Amanda around, I know that I'm loved.  And recently, when Mom came to visit, she said she loved me.  Even though I turned down going back home to work at the hospital Mom works at.

~~~*~~~

Meg's mom is like mine.  I can also see a lot of me in Meg.  The first time I met her, I was worried.  The intensity of which she pushed herself was frightening, and I could see her on the verge of a burnout.  

She had anatomy and physiology class when we first met, and a couple of times she came here for help in homework.  One time, we got to talking about why we were pressing our selves so hard, and she confided that she was trying to please her mother.  I told her that she shouldn't worry so much about what her mother thought, that she loved her.  Meg didn't believe me, but she listened about my relationship with my mom.

As the months went by, I could see signs of her falling apart in front of my own eyes.  Just a few minutes ago, I confirmed the suspicion that she was cutting herself.  It was summer, with 90-degree weather, and she was wearing long sleeves.  Plus, she began to lose quite a bit of weight.  The more she lost, the baggier her clothes became, the sicker she looked.  

I estimate her at 90 pounds. 

She is just a little bit taller than I am.

I tried to get to her.  I talked to her about maybe talking to her mom about how she felt, or letting me talk to her mom, but she always declined, or smiled and said 'maybe'. 

I feel sick to my stomach.  Perhaps if I pushed harder, or talked to her mom with out her consent... or if I listened more, or... or...

Mark sees me in the hall, and comes up to me.  "You couldn't have prevented this," he said, as if he's reading my thoughts.

"I don't know.  Maybe I could have.  I just feel really bad," I said.  

"Maybe you can talk to her when she wakes up.  She should be up in a few hours," Mark reminded me.

I try to smile.  "Thanks."

"I know."

~~~*~~~

I'm standing outside of Meg's door, trying to quash the feeling of guilt, nausea, and fear in the pit of my stomach.  I'm slightly successful.  Meg's so tiny against the bed, curled up as best as she can with her arms and legs in restraints.  She no longer has a breathing tube; that was replaced with an NG tube to feed antidote and charcoal.  They both taste bad.

I pull up a chair, sit down, and get her hand.  I don't know if she can hear me, but I start talking. "I know you're probably scared right now.  I know you're angry and calm, sad and happy; just a torrent of emotions.  I'm here, your mom's here, and a lot of good doctors are here to help you sort them out and feel better.

"I was there one time..."


	2. Meg's Reverie

Ok, I know I said that with the first part, the story was complete, but I guess it wasn't.  This is from Meg's POV.  There is some disturbing imagery, but it isn't too bad.

~~~*~~~

I've not always been this depressed.  I remember when I was little that I was exuberant; not just happy, but exuberant.  Somehow, that all changed.

Dad died when I was 7 years old, and that left just Mom and me.  She was working before he died, but her workload increased because she couldn't support us with one job, and in between her 3 jobs, she worked almost 19 hours a day.  I didn't see her for 4 months straight.

Because she worked so many hours, I was shifted around to babysitters, family members, and Mom's friends.  They shouldn't have all been trusted with an 8 year old. 

I was raped by one of my mom's 'friend's'.  He didn't even bother locking the door, luckily, I guess, because Mom caught him. 

I never saw him again.  I later heard that the very angry father of one of my friends had murdered him.

When I was 10, Mom struck it big.  She got a high paying job, and quit the other three.  You'd think that since she was working only one job, she could spend more time around me, but I guess she couldn't.

It was a combination of many factors, triggered by Mom's inability to spend quality time with me, but when I was 10 years old, I cut for the first time.

It hurt like hell, but I felt so much better with that little jagged cut.  Very quickly I started cutting with greater and greater frequency; started off with maybe once a week, to two or three times a week, to several times a day.  

What also scared me is that the cuts started getting deeper and deeper.

I almost bled to death a couple of times.

The doctor at the ER sent for a psych consult.  I walked out before the shrink came.  I'm not crazy.

For some reason, I stopped cutting when we moved to LA.  I didn't get to know any of my neighbors except this doctor.  Doctor Jesse Travis has been my friend, I guess.  One of the only people I can call a friend.  He's listened to me gripe and complain about anything, and he worries about me.  

~~~*~~~

I guess the respite from cutting was short lived, because 4 months after moving here, I've started back up again.  Plus, I'm not eating.  It's not that I think I'm fat; I'm not.  I just don't want to feed myself before the starving kids in Africa get a chance.

I know it's crazy, but it's how I feel.

I cut too deep last night-another "Oh, Shit!" moment.  I didn't mean to, it just happened.

Jesse asked me if I felt alright.  I guess I'm pale.  I nod and smile.  "Sure, Everything's just kiwi."

He doesn't believe me.

I don't believe me either.

~~~*~~~

I don't know what set me off today, but I just began cutting the living daylights out of my arm.  Some are scratches, some a deep gashes.

That's when I realized cutting isn't helping as much as it was.

Is there a such thing as a cutting tolerance?

If there is, it sucks!

Somewhere in my rampage against my arm, I made up my mind to do something about my depression.

I'm not the type of person to commit suicide, or at least I thought I wasn't.  

I guess I'm wrong, because I found myself in the bathroom looking for pills.  There are pills of every size and color.  I grab a couple of half-empty pain pill bottles and some muscle relaxers.

I down the whole thing, and within 15 minutes, I'm out.

~~~*~~~

_Oh, my God!  What have I done_! I panic.  I crawl painstakingly to the phone.  I push my mind to tell my body to dial 911.

Somewhere, my angels are watching.

"911, what's your emergency?" 

In my mind I said _I took pills, I need help._  I'm sure that I didn't speak out loud as clearly, but the operator must have understood my urgency, because she said an ambulance was on the way.

That's the last thing I remember before I was on the ambulance.

They put a tube down my throat.  I guess I stopped breathing.  I also have a couple of IV's in my arms.  I passed out again until I was in a room at Community General Hospital.

~~~*~~~

Darkness.  It's the first thing I'm aware of.  A cloud of darkness.  A wall of plastic wrap.  I'm trying to break through.  I'm trying to fight for the first time in a long time.  _Where am I?_ enters into my head at some point.  Then I hear it.  The voice of an angel; my savior.

"... you're probably scared right now.  I know you're angry and calm, sad and happy; just a torrent of emotions. I'm here, your mom's here, and a lot of good doctors are here to help you sort them out and feel better.

"I was there one time.  I though that no one loved me.  I thought that I didn't matter to anyone, and if I just went away, no one would care.  I was wrong, but it took me to be in your position to realize that..."

_He attempted suicide? I know he didn't have a very happy child hood, but I didn't know that_.  I struggle harder against the darkness.  I want to wake up.  I want to live so badly that I must have started crying.

"It's alright to cry.  You don't need to bottle everything up so much."  He has let go of my hand and is now stroking my hair.  His compassion breaks the dam.  I begin to sob.  I try to move my hands to wipe my tears, but I find it's restrained.

I finally open my eyes and see that I'm in restraints.  I try to calm the waves of emotions enough so I can talk.  I'm partially successful.  "W-w-why the r-r-restraints?"  I'm able to get out between my hitching breathing.

"Standard procedure.  Do you promise not to hurt yourself if I take them off?"

"Yes," I can barely whisper.

He goes to work wordlessly, and in a few minutes, I'm rubbing my wrists and ankles.  Also, by that time, I've started to breath normally.

"I guess you saw my arms and legs," I say.  I stare at a spot on the wall, not even daring to look in his eyes.

He guides my face so I'm looking in his eyes.  His eyes penetrate my soul, and I almost flinch at the intensity.  "Yes.  I have.  It's OK.  I don't think of you any less, but I hope someday, you can deal with whatever is bothering you without having to cut."

_Damn!_  I was expecting a lecture.  A lecture would be easier, because I could just tune him out and close myself off, but the approach he was taking was going to have to make it nearly impossible to keep myself closed off.

But I don't want to push the pain back down one more time.

One more bitter pill, and I'll scream.

Of course, I'd scream silently.

"When did you start cutting?" he asks.

I don't want to answer.  I rail against the question.  Or at least 90% does.  But the 10% is getting stronger all of the time, and I find myself opening up to him. 

I do want help.  I just don't want to give up cutting.  It's my security blanket.

It's unfair to take my blanket and leave me out in the cold.

I don't want to be cold, but I don't want _this_ blanket.

"I was 10 when I first cut into my skin..."


	3. Mark's Recollection

I'm just going to add this little short autobiography about me, and then it's on with the story.

My story is much like Meg's, except I didn't get down so low on my weight.  I have cut on and off (off now... :D) for about 7 years.  I'm 16, soon to be 17.  I have wasted over 1/3 of my life coping like this.  I'm not complaining... not by a long shot.  I just wish someone caught on earlier (I was caught when I was 13), so maybe it wouldn't escalate to such a terrible degree.  I'm still in therapy, but I'm happy to report that I have eaten 'normally' for about 1 year, and I haven't cut in almost 5 months.

My ED didn't get so out of hand, and actually, I was bulimic, not anorexic, but many of the same emotions and feelings are prevalent and present for both horrible disorder.  I hope that if you have an ED or a self-injury problem that you seek help as soon as possible.

God Bless, and enjoy this chapter.

~~*~~

I remember the first time I met Jesse; youthful exuberance bubbling out of him.  He was eager at first---he is still eager, but it is a bit more controlled now.  From the first time I met him, I could see intensity like I've only seen a few times before driving him to succeed.

A sort of self-worthlessness has driven Jesse from the first time I met him; a desire to please someone.  I later found out whom he had to please.  His mother.

She is a formidable force, a bit egotistical, not very warm, but she is a decent person.  She does care about Jesse a great deal, even though she rarely shows it.

Jesse one time confided in me that he once attempted suicide.  I know all types of people attempt it, but I guess I didn't peg Jesse as the type.  I should know better than to try to peg people in squares or circles.

~~*~~

I met Meg for the first time about 3 months ago.  I didn't know about her problems before I met her, but by the time we were ready to part ways, I had a great suspicion that she had some sort of self-destructive behavior.  I just didn't think self-injury and an eating disorder.

When she was brought in here a couple of hours ago, she was nearly dead.  She barely had a pulse or was breathing, but Narcan and other drugs helped bring her back physically.

It will be harder to bring her back emotionally and spiritually.

I saw her arms and legs today.  I've seen gruesome murder scenes, and they didn't have the same intensity of effect on me as that sight did.  I guess it is in part because this is self-inflicted.  Jesse sent for Plastics to stitch the big cuts up.  He wants to minimize scarring.  

I don't understand.  I don't understand how someone could be in so much pain; he or she has to express it by not eating and cutting his or her skin.  I just don't understand.

I know all about self-injury statistics.  How it is estimated that up to 3 million Americans do this.  How 80% of them are young women.  How they are crying out for help.

I can't understand why, though.  

I hope I will never understand why.

She weights about 90 pounds.  The low end of good on the BMI scale is 20, 19 at the least.  Meg's BMI is 14.  Her electrolytes are out of whack, her hematocrit is 26.  She has an NG tube, now used primarily for continuing charcoal and antidote, both, which, I've heard, taste awful.  Later, it might be used for nutrients if she doesn't eat.  I don't like forcing people to eat, but I took an oath to Do No Harm.

I wish the lines were clearer in what harm was.  Is it more harm to force someone to eat when he or she doesn't want to.  Or to let him or her starve and be "happy".  At least for a short time, anyways.

~~*~~

Jesse must be beating himself up.  I know he has the tendency to go over all of the "What if's" over and over and over in his head.

He can go to the brink like this.

I find him in the hallway outside of the ER cubical where we worked on Meg.  His head is down, and he looks tense.  I go to talk to him.  It might help him.

"You couldn't have prevented this," I say.  He looks up with a bit of awe crossing his features, as if I have read his thoughts.  I haven't.  Lucky guess.

He looks back down.  "I don't know.  Maybe I could have.  I just feel really bad."

"Maybe you can talk to her when she wakes up.  She should be up in a few hours," I remind him.

He looks a bit grateful at me.  He tries to smile, and is only partially successful.  "Thanks," he says, sincerely.

"I know."

I do know now.

~~*~~

It is policy here at the hospital that if anyone is a danger to him or herself, we'll put them in restraints.  I don't like this policy, because it can lead to people being very frightened when they wake up.  It could be for the best, but I think that in most instances, it can lead to more harm than good.

Jesse said that Meg seemed frightened when she woke up.

I guess I would be too.

The road to recovery will be hard for Meg.  The basic plan for Meg is that she'll spend a couple of weeks at the psych ward here at the hospital.  If she is stable (eating regularly and not cutting), she'll be moved to a Vista Dal Sar, a residential treatment facility specializing in teens who have impulse control disorders; ie, shoplifting, self-injury, eating disorder, drug-addicts, etc.

I wish her luck for the following months, and I know that if she gets to liking herself again, she'll be a productive member of society.

~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~

*Note.  I have based the name (and later the place) Vista Dal Sar on a treatment facility called Vista Del Mar that's in southern California.  I have recently seen a documentary about self-injury that was on Discovery Health Channel (I know that US gets it.  Not too sure about UK or other countries.)  It featured this treatment facility.

Since I haven't been there, I'm going to base the fictious residential treatment facility (RTF) on my experiences in hospitals, artistic license, and what I can read from other sites on the Internet about other facilities.

I will make every attempt to make my RTF as true to life as I can.

Thank you


	4. Ramona's Remebering

This is from Meg's mom's, Ramona, view.  Sorry it took a couple of days.  Band is going to be the death (or life, I guess) of me.  

~~*~~

I love my daughter.  I love her a lot; I just haven't been able to show it.  It's called borderline personality disorder.  Either I'm there or I'm not, it's black or it's white, it's love or it's hate... etc.  

I was so happy Meg's father decided to do the main parenting when she was born.  It got me out of having to do any of the hard stuff.  I can't do the hard stuff.  Forrest did so well with Meghan; she was always dressed in the cutest dresses, she was always fed, she was always shown loved.

Then For died.  I fell apart, and begin working 3 jobs to try to keep together. Meg was shipped off to friends and relatives.  An aunt here, his parents there, my college drinking buddies.  I should have been more careful with who I trusted.

One time, Michael was watching Meg when she was 8.  I had left for work, and I left my ID badge at home.

I will never forget that sight.  The fear in Meg's eyes, the evil in Michael's.

I later found out that he raped over 20 little girls.

One of the fathers later killed him.

The father was a cop.  Nothing was ever done to him.

~~*~~

I found a job working, as a nurse's assistant when Meg was 10.  Made pretty good money, and I felt like I was having to run away so much, so I quit my other jobs.  I still didn't say home as much, though, and I guess Meg begin to feel unloved.

I came home one night, and found a bloody Kleenex in the trash bin.  I asked Meg about it, and she made up something about her nose bleeding.  I guess I was so focused on having a perfect world that I didn't want to see what was in front of me.

She was 12 when she had to first go to the ER.  She cut deep.

The doctor said that if she had lost any more blood, she would have had to have a blood transfusion. 

She was stitched up, and sent home.

I never said anything about it until a few months later when she was sent to the ER, this time from school.  She had cut in between classes.  I was so worried about her being suspended that I didn't really check if she was all right.  

I took her home before the psychiatrists could talk to her.

I didn't want them to make me see the truth.

My daughter wasn't OK.

I guess she was **_SCREAMING_** out for help.  I turned a deaf ear, because I didn't want to listen to it.

~~*~~

            I found a job out in LA when Meg was 15.  She loved it, and quickly made friends with Doctor Jesse Travis.  He was about 30 at the time, but even now looks much, much younger.  I don't know all of what they talked about, but I think it was probably partially about me.  

            I haven't found any more bloody bandages in the garbage, but I think that even if she had cut, she would learn how to hide the bandages better.

            I have found some uneaten food that Meg has claimed to eat, though.  She is losing weight rapidly, like about 5 or more pounds a week.  It's amazing and scary at the same times. 

            I was taking a shower last week, and found a huge clump of hair in the drain.  It's not mine.  Her hair is almost black, I'm bleach blond.  

            I want to intervene, but I think she hates me so much, it wouldn't help at all if I did.  Maybe Jesse can help.

~~*~~

            I am in shock.  I just got a call from Community General Hospital.  Meg has overdosed.  Either it was accident (she's doing drugs.  I don't think she's the type of person to do drugs), or she tried to kill herself.  

Either possibility is very unpleasant.    

My stomach is in knots as I nurse the gas pedal.  Why today, of all days, does the traffic have to be so slow? **_DAMMIT!_**   I want to scream, but I don't.  I just keep trying to maneuver around all of the cars.  

I finally make it to the hospital.  I am so scared that I can barely walk, but I push myself anyways.  This is my daughter.  I should have watched out for her, taken care of her, paid attention to her.   Instead, I have ignored her, and made her second string. 

What have I done?  How could I have been so stupid?

They tell me she will be OK physically, but emotionally, that is to be seen.

I should have expected it.

I saw her when she was still in the ER.  She was so pale, that she made the pillows look like they were blushing.  I can't help but blame myself for this.  I just feel so helpless right now.

I talk to Jesse.  He can't believe that it got this far, either.  He seemed distracted by something.  I wonder if he has seen her cuts.  I haven't seen them in a year or so.  I'm too scared to ask to see them.

I won't be allowed to see her until she's seen by a psychiatrist.  I know she'll stay at least two weeks, if not more.  They want to put her in a residential treatment facility called Vista Dal Sar.  It is one of the best places in the country for self-injurers.  

Man, I don't want to think of her as a self-injurer.  It doesn't seem right. 

~~*~~

            I don't know how, but I ended up talking to Mark Sloan, the head of Internal Medicine here at the hospital.  Jesse has mentioned him as his mentor, so I know he's a good man.

            I was just sitting in silence in the courtyard outside, and he comes up and sits next to me.

            "Want to talk about it?"

            "No." A pause.  "Yes."

            He looks at me, expecting me to talk.  "I feel so helpless.  I feel like I have failed her.  I have failed her.  She needed a mother, and I was just a floating figure in her life, there one moment, gone the next.  No stability, no home.  Just a lot of houses."  For some reason, a tear has made it down my face.  I brush it back, and begin to sob.  I'm so lost in my own sobbing, I don't realize Mark's arms coming around me.  I just know that when I finally calm down, Mark is rocking me, saying that everything is going to be all right.  

I try to believe that.

~~*~~

            I'm about to see Meg for the first time she's been conscious since her suicide attempt.  I'm about to throw up, I'm so scared.

            I don't know what to say.

            I enter her room, and try not to gasp at her pallor.  It has been some hours since she took all of the drugs, but she still is pale.

            I suspect the not eating is a factor.

            There is still an NG tube in place.  A couple of IV's are also in her arms.  She's hooked up to a heart machine.  There seems to be probes, lights, and tubes all over the place.

            She's talking to Jesse, reclining with the hospital bed.  She looks up when I come in the room, and sees me.  She puts her head back down in shame.  It breaks my heart.

            "Have me paged if you need anything," Jesse said as he saw me.  He got up to go, but Meg grabbed his hand.

            I could barely make out her whispered plea, but I think it was something like, "Don't leave me, please."

            Jesse looked at me.  I nodded, and took a seat on the other side of the bed.

            I didn't know what to say.  After a couple of deep breaths, I said, "Meg, I love you so much.  I'm sorry I put you in so much pain.  All I want is the best for you."  

            She looks at me, sizing me up, I guess, for a few minutes, and says in a small voice, "I love you, too, Mom.  I'm sorry I hurt you."  I can't take it any longer.  My eyes were already misting over, but at that, tears begin to flow down my face freely.  It's not very long until Meg puts her arms around me.  Jess must have left the room sometime during all of this, because when I came up, he was gone.

            Meg was asleep, so I laid her back, and put the bed down.

            Her face was dry.

~~*~~

It's been two weeks since Meg attempted suicide.  She's being moved to Vista Dal Sar tomorrow.  I'm in her hospital room helping her pack.

"I don't want to go, but I know I have to if I want to get better."

"That's the spirit.  We'll beat this!"

Big mistake in trying to be a cheerleader.  She lets loose with a fury that I haven't seen in a long time.  As much as it scares me, I'm happy, because she's feeling emotion again.

"Come again?  Did you say _we_?  Excuse me, but it wasn't you who took the razor and sliced her arm every day because she was trying to feel emotion, was it?  Was it you who almost died on an overdose?  You have no friggin' idea what I'm going through.  _WE_ will not fight this.  I will.  If I feel like it."

I mumble a quick apology and exit to the cafeteria.

When I come back an hour later, she's asleep.

~~*~~

The Vista is on 50 acres of sprawling land.  There is a school, gym, pool, and other recreation facilities available to the patients.  No, not patients.  Clients.  I broke the first rule.  I'm not to call Meg a patient because she's not sick.  She's a client. 

God, I hate this.

I take her as far as I can go.  She's going to be in lockdown for 2 weeks.  This is goodbye for 2 weeks.  I'm trying to savor it.

I hug her.  "I love you, Meggie."

She's scared, but she's not going to show it.  "I love you, too, mom," she says, squeezing me hard before she disappears behind the door into the lockdown ward.

I got out to my car and cry. 


	5. Meg's Reaction

I didn't mean to lash out at Mom, but her being so peppy all of the time is really getting on my friggin nerves.  I'm going to be shipped of to the loony bin tomorrow.

I don't want to go.  I'll go for a few months, say all of the right things, act like everything is OK, and then I can get on with my pitiful life.

Maybe next time I can be more effective.

~~*~~

"I don't want to go, but I know I have to if I want to get better," I finally admitted to Mom today.

"That's the spirit!  We'll beat this!"

Something in that tone of voice, as if she didn't understand how I felt, just set me off.  Anger began to bubble inside of me like I haven't felt in years.

"Come again? Did you say _we_? Excuse me, but it wasn't you who took the razor and sliced her arm every day because she was trying to feel emotion, was it? Was it you who almost died on an overdose? You have no friggin' idea what I'm going through. _WE_ will not fight this. I will. If I feel like it."

I was shaking.  I turned around, blocking Mom off.  When I turned back around, she was gone.  I guess she went to the cafeteria.

I haven't told anyone this, but I found screw in my other room before being moved in here.  I've scratched my leg with it a couple of times, including after I blew up at Mom.  It doesn't bring blood, but that's not too important right now.

I go to sleep soon after

~~*~~

            Vista Dal Sar looks a lot different than the pictures I've seen.  It is so grey, which may be part of my mood, but the clouds blocked out the sun whenever I went to be admitted.  The pool is small, with too much chlorine.  It doesn't need to overwhelm someone when they are even in the pool.  Just enough with the testing kits.

            The gym is a bit better.  I'll be able to go when I've gained 10 pounds for 10 minutes 2 times a week.  I don't want to have to 'gain' my privileges.  

I haven't seen the school yet, but I'm sure I'll hate it.

After the grand tour, I'm taken to the front reception area.  I'll be taken back to the lockdown ward in the middle of the building.  Like a prison.  I have to work my way out.

I won't see Mom in two weeks.  I try to make this goodbye last.

I squeeze her hard, and she says, "I love you, Meggie."  I hate that nic-name, but I let her get away with it.  This time.

"I love you too, mom."

I'm sure she went out to the car and cried.

~~*~~

I'm taken to the lockdown area.  Nurse what's-her-name had to strip-search me, to make sure I have no weapons or drugs.  She doesn't find the screw.  It's in between my gum and cheek.

First full day at Vista Dal Sar.  Group Therapy.  Hi, my name is Jane Blow, and I like to drink too much, or my name is Jolene Doe, and I like to shoplift, or my name is...

Hello, I'm Meg Rhyan and I like to slice my arm and drink my blood.  I also don't eat, and I want to be a bag of bones.

It's not the entire truth, but it's close enough. 

I miss Jesse.  

The group leader, Marne Scotch, is getting on my nerves.  He keeps pressing and pressing all of my buttons.  But I'm not going to go off on him, because that's what he wants me to do.  I'm going to hold out until he gives up.  I've been told that I'm a lot stronger than I look.  We're to call him Mr. Scotch.  I know I'm going to slip up one day and call him Mr. Butter Scotch.  

I used to take voice lessons, and would have to go on voice rest for weeks at a time.  Maybe I can utilize that here.  That way I don't have to talk.

I have a roommate, Beverly Mays.  She seems nice, but I'm not going to get too close. I'm not going to get too close to anyone because I don't plan on staying here for very long.  I've been told that after I get out of lockdown, it's sort of easy to escape.

~~*~~

I finally did what I said I would never do.  I lashed out at Mr. Scotch.  He asked my why I cut.  I said because I felt like it.  He asked my why, over and over and over and over again, and I finally just broke, and began screaming and crying.  I felt like a fool.  Beverly was moved to the next level.  I miss her.  Maybe once I get out there I won't run away.  It depends.

I really miss Jesse.  I have only two more days of lockdown, and I can have two 3-minute phone calls a week.  Also, I can have one visitor.  I'm sure Mom will be the visitor for the first time.  After that, maybe Jesse can visit.  I miss talking to him about anything.  I know I wasn't forthcoming about most things while talking to him, but I did feel better, if only for a little while.

I feel like a fat pig.  I've gained 5 pounds.  I weigh 95 pounds.  I haven't really purged much before, but if worse comes to worst, I may.  I don't really want to, because it screws my voice up too much.  I purged for about 2 times a day for three weeks, and I was so hoarse I couldn't hit the C on the third space on the treble clef.

~~*~~

Mom comes to visit today.  Oh. Joy.  I have cleaned and cleaned and straightened and straightened over and over again.  Beverly can't believe my energy.  It's nervous energy.  I don't really know how I'm going to react. 

I have been roomed with Beverly again.  I don't know how I really feel about her.  She is a friend, but I don't know if she's more than that, or even if I should be worried if she is.

Mom is here.  It's almost schizophrenic.  We're talking about the weather, when we should be talking about how I am.  I don't want to bring it up, and neither does she.  Fine with me.

"How's Jesse?" I ask.

"He's been asking about you.  He said that when he could, he would come up to visit.  Mark, Steve, and Amanda have been asking about you, too."

"Ok.  Tell them I miss them, and I send them my love," I say.  Why does my voice have to shake so much?

The nurse announces in the family room that it's time for visitors to start wrapping up their visit.

Mom stands up, and I follow suite.  "I love you, Meggie," she mumbles as she hugs me.  There's the nic-name again.

"I love you, too, Mom."


	6. Jesse's Reflections

The lyrics are from the song _Hurt_, done by both Nine Inch Nails and Johnny Cash.  I personally like the Johnny Cash version better...  anyways, sorry it's been a couple of days.  I have a vocal competition on the 10th, and I've been preparing for that.  Also, my computer has been messing up severely.

I made a _B_ in AP US History!!!  Oh Yeah!!

Anyways, on with the chapter.

~~*~~*~~

I go to visit Meg tomorrow.  Her mom visited last week, and she asked me to go to visit this time.  I hear Meg misses me.

I have thought and prayed a lot the last few weeks... no, months.  Ramona said that Meg has gained weight.  I hope so.  She was too thin.  She was actually emaciated.

I don't know what to expect, so I'm just hoping for the best.  

~~*~~

"Jesse!  Stop pacing, will ya?" Amanda practically shouts at me in the doctor's lounge.  I don't blame her.  Today is the day I go to visit Meg.  I'm scared.  The events in the past month have reawakened feelings in me that I tried to forget.

It's not that easy.  

"I'll try," I tell Amanda.  She looks at me.

"What's wrong?" she asks.  "You haven't been yourself the past few months."

I haven't told her about me attempting suicide.  I meant to, but I guess I haven't got around to it yet.

It's time for a talk.

I gesture to one of the tables in the lounge.  "I have something to tell you," I say.  Damn!  Why does my voice have to shake so?

"Ok," Amanda says, sitting down.  She looks at me, expectantly.  I sit down.  It feels like to the electric chair.

"Meg, and everything with her has awakened repressed feeling that I thought I had a good hold on.  When I was 16, I tried to kill myself," I say, staring at a coffee stain on the table, afraid to look at her.

"Oh, Jesse.  I'm sorry.  I didn't know," Amanda said, putting her hand on mine.

"That's because I didn't tell you," I said.

"Well, you just told me.  I still care for you.  You are my friend," she said.  I looked up, and saw that she was telling the truth.  We both got up and she wrapped her arms around me. 

~~*~~

The drive to the Vista was long.  Not in miles, it was only about 20 miles from Community General, just in time.  In anticipation.

And fear.

I was met by a big sign that said "Vista Dal Sar, where we heal the whole person, not just treat them".  I had to smile at that.  I remember that type of propaganda when I was hospitalized.

Meg has gained a little weight, but not much.  At least her collarbones aren't protruding _as_ much.

She hugged me tightly and when I released her, she pinched 1/4th inch on her stomach and gripped about gaining weight.

"Meg, you don't understand.  You're _under_weight.  Do you know what you're supposed to weight at your height?"

"Yeah, 130-145.  They want to fatten me up like a fatted calf."

I had to smile at that analogy.  "No, they want to make you healthy."

"Right, whatever.  How's work?"

"It's fine.  I have a nice triple shift coming up next week."

"Ouch!  Caffeine IV drip, large bore, wide open, for me, STAT!" she said, imitating me.

I rolled my eyes.  "Right, if you say so."

"I bet you wish that there was IV caffeine, though," she said.

"You're right," I admitted.

"How are Amanda, Mark, and Steve?"

"They are working hard.  Steve solved a couple of murders this week."

"Great, two more evil criminals off the street!" she said.

"One guy actually was a drag queen.  He killed the manager of a club in between sets.  If his perfume hadn't broken in his purse, he would have never been caught."

"That's interesting!  What about the other case?"

We sat, discussing the other case, Mr. Scotch, (Butter, anyone?), and where she wanted to go to college (Juilliard.  I knew she sang from time to time, but not _THAT_ well.  Move over Cecilia Bartoli.), and her lamenting over having to gain 5 more pounds to go to the gym.

"I'll lose my muscle by the time I get back," she whined.

"Maybe you won't."

"Right, you're a doctor.  You know it can take only a couple of weeks to lose muscle mass."

"Maybe you could flex your arms and legs a lot until you get to go back," I suggested.

"Maybe, or... _DUH_!  Push-ups!  What was I thinking?" she said.

"Everyone, it's time to wrap up your visit.  Thank you family members and doctor," the nurse said, batting her eyes at me, making me blush, "for coming today."

We stand up, and she gives me another hug.

"Bye, Jesse.  Tell everyone I send my love," Meg says as we part ways.

"Ok, Meg.  I hope you get better soon," I said.

Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she smiled.  "Ok, Doc.  See ya later."

~~*~~

"Hey Mark, I just got back from seeing Meg.  She says hi and sends her love."

"Thanks, Jesse.  How is she?"

"She's gained 5 pounds.  She's complaining that she's a fat pig.  I guess to her, she is, though."

"That's the big thing with anorexia.  Everyone sees her as emaciated, starved, but she sees herself as being fat."  We stood in silence for a few minutes.  "I have rounds to do.  I'll see you later," he said as he went down the hall.

"Ok, Mark. See you later."

~~*~~

I'm driving to my apartment, when I hear it.

"...hurt myself today..." I turn the song up on my radio.  Is that Johnny Cash?

"...focus on the pain, the only thing that's real.  The needle tears a hole..."

It hit me.  This must be how Meg feels when she cuts.  I pull over before it's too late.  The tears that are in my eyes are blinding me.  This is not the first time I've cried in the past month.  It won't be the last, either.  

"...what have I become, my sweetest friend..."    


	7. Mark's Revival

Sorry it's taken me a few days.  I thought that I could get to this faster, since I'm off on Spring Break this week, but I guess since that I've been running around like a chicken with it's head cut off for the past weeks, I'm paying for it. 

Show Choir got 2nd place, and I, out of 100, got an 83, 84, and 89.  Pretty good for my first competition.  I just hope I do well enough by December, so I can make it into Juilliard....  

Anyways, on with the story.

~~~*~~~

I saw something I thought I never would have seen today.  I saw Jesse cry.

Not just a couple of trickles of tears down his face, but body shaking sobbing.

I have become increasingly concerned about him since Meg was hospitalized.  I think that he was pushing down all of his emotions from this, and Meg has triggered something.  He's been wearing long sleeves.  I don't know if that's something to be worried about, but in general, I'm just worried.

~~*~~

I went to his apartment today to confront him.  I knocked for 5 minutes, and then decided to let myself in.  If he weren't there, I would just wait for him.

As I opened the door, I hear it.  Quiet at first, but as I moved through the house, searching for him, the sobbing got louder and louder.

I entered his bedroom, and he looked up.

He looked as panicked as a deer caught in headlights.

"Mark!" he exclaimed through the sobs.  His hands instantly went up to his face, to hide it.  I went over to him and sat down.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Something like a muffled sob answered me as he laid his head on my shoulder.  I hugged him tightly and didn't let go.  

We stayed there for another half-hour.  After he got calmed down enough, I asked him again, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know.  I feel like a pregnant person, crying all of the time," he said.  The comparison turned my lips up for a split second.

"It's Meg," I said, a bit of a question, but more as a statement.  Again with the awed look.

"Yes, it is," he said quietly.  "It's like every emotion I swallowed down when I tried to commit suicide has come up to the surface at the same time.  I can't take it much longer, Mark.  It's getting to be too much," he said, almost whispering at the end.

I don't know what to say, so I hug him.  "It's going to be all right," I say, trying to assure myself as much as I'm trying to assure him.

~~*~~

Meg has asked to talk to me on the phone, so in about 30 minutes, I'm going to get to talk to her.  I do miss her very much, and I hope she's getting better.

I try to read about the latest laproscopic procedure to do kidney transplants while waiting for her.  I don't get past the first line.

_*ring, ring*_ the phone says, shaking me from my reverie.

"Hello," I say.

"Dr. Sloan?" a voice on the other line asks.  It's Meg.

"Yes, darling.  It's me.  How are you?"

"I'm doing a bit better, I guess.  I get to go to the gym tomorrow," she said, sounding happy about that.

"Good, I'm glad."

"Yeah, me too.  My cuts are healing up, but I'm still not going to wear shorts or short-sleeved shirts," she said, with a bit of a wistfulness.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I know.  I'm glad I got to talk to you.  How's Jesse?" she asked.  I hoped she wouldn't.

Should I tell her the truth, and let her worry, or should I just say that he's fine, hope she wouldn't notice my hesitation, and let her be mad at me when she gets back?

"He's been better.  I guess with everything going on, he's remembering some things about his attempt," I said.

She seemed to accept this explanation.

"I hoped he wouldn't.  I just hope he feels a lot better soon," she said, sounding a little sad.  "Oh!  They're talking about letting me out for the day on July 4th!  It seems that I've progressed well," she said, her spirits picking back up.

"That's great.  Maybe you can come out to the beach house and have a picnic." I suggested.

"That would be great."

I heard the sound of muffled talking in the background for a few seconds, and then Meg came back on.  "Listen, Dr. Sloan, it's been great talking to you, but I have to get off.  My time is starting to run out," she said.

"Ok, sweetie.  It's been great talking to you!  I hope to see you on the 4th," I said.

"Me, too!  I'll talk to you later," she said as she hung up the phone.

I was pleased.  She sounded happy, and like everything was going better.  She was going to the gym, so she had gained the 5 pounds to earn the privilege.  Plus, her cuts were healing up, and it seemed that maybe her spirit was healing up.  If only I could say that about Jesse.

~~*~~

"Jesse, why don't you take the next couple of days off?  You can say out at the beach house and rest up," I suggested to him after he worked almost 4 days in a row.  

"I don't know, Mark.  I like working," he said, with a yawn.

"But you're no good to your patients with you about to fall asleep on them," I said.  He seemed to consider that.

"One day," he said.

"Three days," I said, trying to make him take more time off.

"Two days," he said, trying to compromise.  That's what I wanted him to take off originally, so I accepted the offer.

"I'm off in about 30 minutes.  I'll drive you by your apartment, and then to the beach house.  You're too tired to drive yourself," I said.

He yawned as he nodded.

~~*~~

By the time I was ready to leave, he was sound asleep in the doctor's lounge.  I quietly woke him, and somehow managed to get him out into my car.  I remembered that he had some clothes out at the beach house, so I drove him straight there.  Steve was home and helped me move Jesse into the guest bedroom.

He slept until 10 the next morning, looking a bit more refreshed.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Steve said as Jesse dragged out of bed.  Jesse, confused, looked at his watch, up at Steve, and back at his watch.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" he asked.

"Nah.  I took a couple of days off," Steve said.

"What about you, Mark?  I know you were signed up for a double shift," he said.

"I arranged with Drs. Carson and Henry to cover my shifts for today," I said.  He looked even more confused.

He backed up as he said, "Ok, who are you guys, and what have you done with Steve and Mark?"

"We are Steve and Mark," I said.

"B-b-b-but you guys almost never take days off," he said, backing up more, almost to the step.  He reached the step, and fell down.  His defenses gave way soon after.

"I never do, too, " he said, sadly.  "I never do, because I'm too busy running away from, away from, well, from everything," he finally admitted.  His chin quivered as he began crying for the second time I saw in two days.  He buried his head in between his legs, wrapped his arms around himself, and began rocking and crying.  "I feel like I'm 16 again," he said, through choked sobs.


	8. Steve's Rehashing

I thought it was finally time for Steve to get his say in all of this, so here he is.  Amanda will be next.

Anyway, here goes.

~~*~~

I felt so helpless watching Jesse sobbing like a baby.  _What do I do?  How can I make the pain go away?_

I just wanted to hug him, to make it go away, but I was afraid.  Of what, I don't know.  I swallowed it down, and moved to sit by him.  I automatically put my arms around him, and he fell against my chest, holding on to my shirt for dear life.

For now, all I can do is hold him.  Dad went to the kitchen, and a few minutes later, I smell coffee starting to brew.  We all are going to have a long talk.

~~*~~

"Sorry," Jesse mumbled to the floor.

"Jesse, if you apologize again, I'll make you HAVE to apologize.  You have nothing to be sorry for," I said.

"I know, but s..." he started until he saw the warning look on my face.  He gives me a small smile.  The first in a long time.

We both enter the kitchen, and Jesse is immediately drawn to the steaming cup already poured out for him.  He doesn't drink immediately; he just holds it in his shaking hands.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again, and begins to talk.  "I don't know why I've been so, um, emotionally disregulated lately, but it's affecting everyone," he said with a strained voice.  He winces at the use of emotionally disregulated, as if it were a painful thing to say.  

It must be for him.

"I've tried for so long to keep everything under control, but it's killing me.  And it's not helping anyone else either," he admitted.  A look of shame crossed his features.  I bite my lip, not knowing what to do.

"You know we're here for you, Jesse," Dad says.  Jesse nods, trying to hold back more tears that are threatening to fall.  "Whatever help you need, we will try to get it for you," he assures Jesse.  Jesse nods again, a tear slipping down his face.

"We care for you, and what happens to you," I pipe in.  He opens his eyes, and stares into mine.

"Thank you," he whispers.  He gets up, and announces he's going to take a walk on the beach to think.

~~*~~

"What can we do?" I ask as Jess passes the log where I go to think.

"One, we can be there for him," Dad says.

"He's got that."

"Try to get him help.  I hadn't realized how deep this depression was until he started talking about it."

"What about his arms?  He's been wearing long sleeves for a while, and it's the end of June.  Have you seen them?" I ask.

"No.  I was thinking about that earlier.  Maybe it's nothing, but I have this feeling," he said.

"Me too."  We fall into companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Oh!  Meg might get out for July 4th for the day," he mentioned.

"That's great.  How much longer does she have until she can go back to the gym?  I know she was mentioning that quite a bit."

"Yesterday, she said that she was going today.  That means she has gained 10 pounds back," I said.

"That's great," I said.  We spend the next 30 minutes talking about Meg and Jesse, or until Jesse comes back to the house.

"Think things through?" Dad asks.

"Some of them."  He hesitates before telling the next thing.  "I, um, I-i" he begins, his face at first turning white, and then a deep red.  He takes a deep breath and sits down.  He begins again.  "IhavebeendoingwhatMeghas," he mumbles out.

"What?" Dad asks.  "Slow down," he says.

Jesse takes a deeper breath, and in a soft voice, he begins again.  "I have been doing what Meg has been doing," he said, enunciating each word.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Not eating, hitting my arms against hard objects to make bruises.  That's why I've been wearing long sleeves.  I guess that a "surfing accident" started becoming suspicious."

He looks at Dad, and he knew.  He knew that we knew.  Shame and fear crosses his face as he studies a spot on the carpet intently.

"Jesse, it'll be all right," I say quietly.  He nods again.  Dad goes to hug him as I call Amanda.  I fill her in on everything and she says she'll be over as soon as she could.

~~*~~

"Jesse, honey," she says as she envelops him in a soothing hug.  He stiffens at first, but then allows himself to be comforted.

"Hi, Amanda," he says.  She breaks off the hug, and runs her hand down the side of his face.

"I'm here for you," she says.  That must be getting annoying for Jesse, but he just gives Amanda a small smile.  "Come here, you," she said, hugging him again.

Dad motions me to come into the kitchen to talk.  I enter the kitchen, and get a mug of coffee.

After I take a gulp, Dad says, "You know Dr. May, don't you?"

"The name sounds familiar.  I think so," I said.

"He's one the best psychiatrist on staff at Community General.  In fact, he's one of the best on the west coast.  He has a lot of experience in, um, impulse control disorders such as eating disorders and self-injury issues," he says.

"You think we can get Jesse in?"

"That's what I'm hoping.  I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"Ok," I say.  "I don't think he should stay by himself," I say.

Dad nods in agreement.  "I was going to suggest he stay here for awhile."

"Ok.  Let's go talk to him."

We both go back to the living room area to find him asleep on the couch.  Amanda puts a finger to her lips and whispers, "He cried himself out, so I told him to lay down for a little bit."

We take Amanda outside to talk.

~~*~~


	9. Amanda's Retelling

I've always seen Jesse as a little brother.  As someone to protect, to keep the demons of the world from harming him.  Somehow, I feel I have failed.

Entering into the beach house to see him vulnerable and scared, I felt like I have failed.  I know I can't control what happens to him, but I like to think I can.  I guess the maternal instinct in me reaches beyond my boys.

When I entered and saw the tear stains on his face, wild horses couldn't have kept me from taking him up and trying to comfort him.  "Jesse, honey," I said.  He stiffened at first, probably from being hugged so much, but soon relaxed.

"Hi, Amanda," he says, sounding listless and broken.  I run a hand down his face, and he smiles, looking even more like a lost little boy.

"I'm here for you," I say.  He smiles again.  "Come here, you," I say again, as I envelope him with another hug.

I see Mark and Steve go to the kitchen, as much to talk as giving Jesse and me some privacy.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.  He closes his eyes, as a tear traces a well-worn path down his cheek.  I brush it away.    

"Shhh.  You have nothing to be sorry about," I say.

"Yes..." he starts, but I shake my head.

"No, you don't.  I've not gotten so depressed to attempt suicide, and I really haven't been depressed too much in my life, but I know it can be overwhelming."  That must have pushed a button for him, because soon, he begins sobbing again.  I can feel him grow weak against me, so I suggested he lie down on the couch.

He was asleep in 5 minutes.

Steve and Mark came back from the kitchen soon after.

"He cried himself out, so I told him to lay down for a little bit."

"Ok, he'll be asleep for a little while.  Steve and I have to talk to you," Mark said.  I follow both of them out to the deck.

"You know Dr. May?" Mark asked.  

The name sounded familiar.  "Yes, he works with eating disordered people.  And people who self... Jesse's been self-injuring?" I ask.

"He said he hits his arms until they're bruised," Steve said.  I can't believe it.

"Does he have an eating disorder?"  I ask.

"He says he hasn't been eating," Mark said.  I have noticed he's been looking a bit thinner than normal, lately.  But I thought with him working like he has been that he was just overworking himself and forgetting to eat.  Not purposely not eating.

I close my eyes trying to take this all in.  _Poor Jesse!_

~~*~~

Today, he went for his first session with Dr. May, or Dr. D. William May.  No one seems to know what the _D_ stands for.  Jesse said it might mean dumb, um, well, you know.

"How'd it go?" I ask as he comes out.

"It went."  Silence. 

I clear my throat, but don't say anything.

"What was that for?" Jesse asked.

"Allergies," I say quickly.  Jesse looks at me, not believing me, but he doesn't say anything.  "Um, how do you feel?" I ask, trying to fill in the uncomfortable silence.

"Numb.  Nothing new," he said, apathetically. 

"Oh, did you hear that Meg is getting to come home for the day on the 4th?" I ask.

"Yes.  I'm glad.  She's also back at the gym, so she's gained 10 pounds."

"Yeah.  Do you want something to eat?" I asked.

"Um, not now.  I'm not hungry.  Maybe later," he said.  I knew he was lying, but I let it slide.  It's a delicate balancing act: to force enough to make him do what's right, but to not force so much to drive him away.

I would be on edge for the next few months.

~~*~~

It's July 4th. We all are out at the beach house with Ramona and Meg, with BBQ Bob's providing the food.  Meg is looking a lot healthier.  She doesn't look as pale, and a bit of healthy pink was sprayed on her cheeks.

Jesse was putting on a good show for Meg, but stealing glances at both of them, I saw that Meg knew everything wasn't kosher.  

I think she confronted him sometime later.

"She's looking much better," I remarked sometime to Mark.

"She is.  Her cheeks are pink, and not the stark white they were."

"I think Meg knows," I said.

"Knows what?"

"Something's wrong with Jesse.  She's been looking at him with concern," I said.

Mark nodded.  "I noticed that, too.  I think she talked to him."

"Me, too.  He looks, um, not happier.  A bit calmer, maybe."

"And maybe a bit happier.  Look," he said, gesturing towards Jesse, playing tackle football with Steve.  Steve just tackled him, and started to tickle him.  Peals of laughter rang all over, and my heart twisted.  How I have missed that sound!  Just as I felt a mist come over my eyes, Mark put his arm around my shoulders.

"I've missed it, too," he said. 

"Let's go down and help him," I said.

"Who, Jesse?"

"No, Steve!"

~~*~~


	10. Meg's Respite

Late Disclaimer:  I don't own _Diagnosis Murder_.  It's just simply that the powers that be are letting me borrow them, torture them with angst, make them happy and healthy again, and give them back, all nice and well.  

Disclaimer:  I don't own, nor did I write the song "The Cat's in the Cradle".  That was the work of Sandy and Harry Chapin.  Nor do I own any of the other songs that are listed here.  Those are the work of Harry Chapin.

Um, that's all for now!

~~*~~

It's great to be free, even for a day.  School here at the Vista is year long, and I rarely get a break, even during the scheduled respites, because of therapy:  all types of therapy.  Group, individual, drug, eating disorder, self-injury... a lot of therapy.  It wears me out, and that's why it's great to be free.

Mark is letting me and Mom come over for a picnic.  That's great, because I love the ocean, and basically, the ocean is the back yard.

I have gained weight, though.  At least I can go back to the gym.  There's nothing like exercise in how it can make me feel so good.  For every 5 pounds I gain, that's another 5 minutes I can stay.  If I start losing weight, then I'll be cut down, until I'm restricted all the way.  

I can't help but pinch the fat and groan.  Beverly just smiles when she catches me doing that.  She has a pretty smile.  It brightens my day.

I can't wait to see Jesse.  I haven't really talked to him much, but I have been busy.  But I think a couple of times; he's been busy, too.  He doesn't sound happy.  I'll have to talk to him when I go over to Mark's and Steve's.

~~*~~

July 4th is here!  Not only is it the national Independence Day, in a way it's mine.  I don't have to stay within the confines of the hospi, um, residential treatment center.  It's not a hospital, and I'm not a patient. 

Mom is waiting outside in the car.  I'm so glad it's air conditioned, because it's a bit humid today.

I sit back and close my eyes, enjoying being in a car.  I'll never take it for granted again.

"Hey, sunshine," Mom says.  I snarl my nose at the nic-name, but I have to remember that she didn't say "Meggie".

"Hey, Mom."

"I love you," she says, looking over at me.  She has aged over the past month or so.  If I had seen her everyday, I wouldn't have noticed, but since I have seen her sparsely, I can tell a difference.  Don't get me wrong; she is still very, very pretty.  She's just aged with stress. 

I smile.  It's genuine.  "I love you, too."  She reaches for my hand, and I hold her hand as I lay back down, and settle down to sleep.

~~*~~

"Meg!  Ramona!  Everyone is out back," Mark said, as he greeted us with a hug.

Mom went ahead around, and I hung back, to talk to Mark.

"Hey Mark.  How's it going?" I asked.

"Pretty good.  How about with you?"

"I'm doing better.  I'm feeling," I said.

Mark wrinkled his brow in confusion "Feeling better?" he said, trying to clarify the statement.

"No.  I'm feeling.  That's a strange sensation, but it's a good one," I explained.

"Oh!  Well, that's very good," he said, squeezing my hand.  "Let's go around," he said.

"Ok!"

We walked around.  The first sight of Jesse, and I could see a difference.  His face was drawn in, and he looked terrible.  Just so run down and drained of life.  I about gasped but before I could react, I was almost smothered by him.

"Meg!  I'm so happy to see you!" he said, as he became a boa constrictor.

"Jess... can't... breath..." I said, joking.  "It's great to see you, too," I said, as he loosened his hold.

"You look great.  Not as sick."  
"Well, you look terrible!" I said.  "What's wrong?"

"I'll, um, uh, will tell you, um, later," he said, as he wrung his hands together.

"Ok, later.  But you better tell me," I said, giving him another hug.  "So, did Steve cook?"

~~*~~

I ate a sort of normal meal.  I've been a vegetarian for a while, and Steve had stuff from BBQ Bob's.  Potato salad, cole slaw, and bread is actually enough for me.  Even though I have been used to eating for some time, if I eat too much, I'll get sick to my stomach, and that's not pleasant.

A little bit after eating, I went to search for Jesse.  I found him on a log that was on the main beach, out a couple hundred feet from the house.

He looked up, and I saw tracks of dried tears where they coursed down his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I-i don't know," he said.  "You know that I attempted suicide when I was your age.  I feel like everything is coming back again.  All of the fear, the anger, th-the sadness.  All that I tried to hold in and block off is coming to the surface.  I feel like I'm losing it, and I don't know if it can be found.  I don't know what I'm losing, but I feel like whatever I'm losing it important."

"Jesse, you more than most people because you're a doctor, know that when someone gets a boil, it looks pretty inconspicuous, just a swollen bump that's warm.  But what's inside is harmful to everything else.  It has the potential to poison everything around it, or even kill the person.  The only solution?  To lance it.  It's painful, it's messy, but it's healing.  And yes, you do get scars from it, but they are good scars; reminders of what one has been through.  You've got to lance this boil in you."

"Wow. You're pretty wise for a 16 year old," Jesse remarked, his voice breaking.

"It's all the therapy.  They make us robots to spout out things like this and make unsuspecting people feel better," I joked.  Jesse smiled.

"You're safe with me.  You can cry, if you want to," I say softly.  "You can also laugh, scream, curse at the top of your... well, that might not be a good idea.  You could get arrested," I said.  Jesse laughed.  Tears sprung to his eyes, and as the first one leaked out, he began to sob.  He laid his head down on my shoulder and held on for dear life.

After the first few times of doing this with Beverly, I've gotten good for what to say.

~~*~~

The sun is going down its course of the sky.  By my rusty skills at telling time by the sun, it's 3:00.  I look at my watch to confirm.  2:00.  I'm close, but still no cigar.  Or actually just a chocolate cigar will do.

Jesse looks a bit more peaceful.  Maybe since he was afraid of disappointing me with the news that he wasn't eating, and that he was injuring himself.  I was calm, and I could tell that was a let down for him.  

Maybe that's how I felt when I was in the hospital, just waking up from the overdose, and he's sitting there, not screaming at me, but talking calmly.  I couldn't block him out like I usually do at people screaming at me.

The fear in his eyes before he tells me is tangible, like I can almost reach out and grab it in a big handful and squish it around.

"Meg, I've not been eating," he said, after he got done crying.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I really don't know.  I think it's because I still feel guilty for what I did when I was 16."

"You don't feel worthy enough to eat?"

"Maybe.  I've, um, also been hitting my arms.  Leaving bruises," he said, looking down at a conch shell that was at his feet.

"Jess, look at me," I said.  He tilts his head up, but they are still focused on the ground.  "Jess, look at me."  He does.  "I'm not mad at you.  I think you were expecting me to go off on a rampage, weren't you?"

"Actually, yes.  I thought you'd also be disappointed," he said, at that moment, sounding like a small child.

"Jess, I could never be disappointed in you.  You're a doctor who saves lives.  You're a caring person.  You're my friend!"  I said.  He broke out in a mega-watt grin.  It felt genuine.  I let out with my own grin.

~~*~~

It was later on.  I was sitting with Mom on the patio, enjoying the view and the ice-cold water in my hand.  Mark and Amanda were above me, talking about something in hushed tones, and Jesse and Steve were out in the sand, playing tackle football.  Steve was letting Jesse off with some easy "touchdowns".  Finally Jesse got mad at Steve for letting him win, and he said he could win on his own steam.

"All right, little boy.  You want full strength.  You got it," Steve said, in a jocular tone. "24, 45, 68, Manning, 23.  HIKE!" Steve said as he threw it a Jesse.  When Jesse got the ball, Steve tackled him.  Without warning, he began to tickle him earnestly.  Jesse's laughter resonated everywhere, and soon, as Amanda and Mark bolted off the deck quickly, and went to terrorize Jess.  I couldn't help but smile.

Jesse was happy, even for a moment.

~~*~~

It's time to leave, and I don't want to go back to the Vista.  I have had a lot of fun today, with, after convincing my Mom to join in, a football game.  Steve and I won.  Yes, I'm loyal to Jesse, but I'm more loyal to winning.  Just kidding.  Also, Steve found out about my Harry Chapin, um, obsession.  It's not _my_ fault that he wrote such awesome songs.

The radio was on outside, and I heard the first familiar bars of the song, and I gasped.  "Harry Chapin!"

Steve looked at me.  "You know who Harry Chapin is?"

"Who wouldn't?  I mean he was the greatest songwriter ever.  At least, in my, *ahem* humble opinion," I said.

"What's your favorite song?"

"Probably _Pigeon Run_.  It was actually in his Broadway play, _What Made America Famous?_ so not many people even know about it.  I also like _W.O.L.D_ and, of course _30,000 Pounds of Bananas_. And _Six-stringed Orchestra_. "

Steve looked impressed.  "Not even Dad listens to Harry much.  I'm impressed."

"Thank you," I said, with a silly grin. 

We began to sing. "...My son turned 10 just the other day.  He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad.  Come on, let's play.  Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today, I got a lot to do." He said, "That's OK."  But he walked away, and his smile, let me tell you, said _I'm going to be like him, yeah.  You know I'm going to be like him_..."

Mom pulls up to the entrance of Vista, and I let out an audible groan.  "Do I have to?" I whined. 

"Yes, you do," Mom said, catching on to my game.

"All right.  I'll go." I said, smiling.

"I love you, Meggie.  I'll see you on Wednesday!" she said as she shooed me out of the car.

I entered into the front reception area, and was met by Mr. Williams, one of the college counselors.

"Hello, Ms. Rhyan.  Did you enjoy your visit?" he asked as he escorted me back to the patient rooms.

"Very much so, Mr. Williams.  I got to see Jesse!" I exclaimed.

"That's the doctor, right?"  
"Yes.  He, and his supervisor, Mark, his supervisor's son, Steve, and Amanda, his friend, had a barbeque.  Jess and Steve own a BBQ restaurant, so they had food from there.  Of course, all I could eat was potato salad and cole slaw," I said.

"Did you eat a good portion?"

"Yes.  I had about 3 ounces of cole slaw and about 1 ounce of potato salad."

"That's still sort of small, but it's about with what you're eating now.  You're progressing nicely," he said. 

I smiled.

"Well, here we are, Ms. Rhyan," said as he came to my room.

"See you, Mr. Williams," I said as I entered the room.

"Meg!" Bev said as she came to hug me.  

"Bev!" I said at the same time.

"How was your visit?" she asked, looking at me expectantly.  
"It was great.  I got to spend time around the beach.  I saw Jesse.  And Mom and I aren't fighting!"

"That's great.  I wish I could go, but I visited home a couple of weeks ago," she said, a bit wistfully.

"I wish you could go, too.  Maybe next time we're up for visiting home, we can make sure we're going home on the same day," I said.

"Maybe.  That'd be cool," she said.  We spent the next 15 minutes catching up, before I looked at my watch.

"We have group in 10 minutes," I said, scowling.

"Ew!" she said.

"Ah, let's go and be good little recovering anorexics," I said.

She sniggered at my remark.

We went to be good little patients with Mr. Scotch.

~~*~~ 


	11. Jesse's Resolve

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated....  Either I'll get this story finished soon, or I'll be out of school and able to update it more regularly than I have been, but until then, enjoy this chapter.

~~*~~

I was so happy to see Meg.  But seeing her again made me worried that she would be disappointed in me.  The Fear of Failure strikes again.

I was wrong.  She understood, and then she said I needed to get it out of me.  I know that.  I've known it all along, but it's so hard to change almost 30 years of habit.  It's so hard to let go of this terrible burden.  It keeps me safe from everyone.  

It's also killing me.  Inside, at least.  And it could manifest on the body, and do harm.

I just don't know what to do.  Or, I do.  I just don't want to do it.  I don't want to go back to Dr. May.  He's too pompous, and I don't do well with that.  But I know how hard it took to get me in with him, so I'll just stick with him.

Besides, Meg made me feel a bit better.  I don't have to go.

But I do.

I'm so tempted to just lay down in quit, but I have only done that one time.  It's usually not my style.

It's just so easy to do that.  I won't, or I'm telling myself **now** I won't.

~~*~~

Meg is looking much better.  A lot of the color has returned to her face, and she's just looking so much healthier.

I was sitting on the lounge chair trying to not nod off, and I look up, and there she is.  Vibrant and so full of life.  I bolt up from the lounger and almost crush her with a hug.

"Meg! I'm so happy to see you!" I said as she was coughing.

"Jess... can't... breath..." she choked out, with a slight laugh.  I release the hold on her.  "It's great to see you, too."

"You look great.  Not as sick," I commented.

"Well, you look terrible!  What's wrong?" Meg said, seeing right through me.

I was taken aback by her directness, but I wasn't really surprised.  That's how she is.  "I'll, um, uh, will tell you, um, later," I said as I wrung my hands together.

"Ok, later, but you better tell me," she said, as she gave me another hug.  "So, did Steve cook?" she asked as a smile played on her lips.

"It's BBQ Bob's food," I said.

"Ok, so it's edible," she said.

"Yes, it is," I said.

~~*~~

I watched Meg eat.  She had a small portion of cole slaw, and an even smaller portion of potato salad.  She would take a small bite, chew it for a long time, take a sip of water, and then take a small bite, etc...

But it's more than I've seen her eat in a long while.

I could feel the tears start to come.  I don't know why I started to cry, but I went out to the log that both Steve and Mark go to sit on when they think.  I cried for, oh, I don't know how long.  After I calmed down a bit, Meg came searching for me.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she found me.

"I-i don't know." I said.  I took a deep breath and went on.  "You know that I attempted suicide when I was your age. I feel like everything is coming back again.  All of the fear, the anger, th-the sadness.  All that I tried to hold in and block off is coming to the surface.  I feel like I'm losing it, and I don't know if it can be found.  I don't know what I'm losing, but I feel like whatever I'm losing it important."  I took a hitched breath, and covered my face.

She took one of my hands in hers.  "Jesse, you more than most people because you're a doctor, know that when someone gets a boil, it looks pretty inconspicuous, just a swollen bump that's warm.  But what's inside is harmful to everything else.  It has the potential to poison everything around it, or even kill the person.  The only solution?  To lance it.  It's painful, it's messy, but it's healing.  And yes, you do get scars from it, but they are good scars; reminders of what one has been through.  You've got to lance this boil in you."  As she went on with the analogy, I felt the tears start to push through.

I took another deep breath to try to dissipate another crying jag.  "Wow.  You're pretty wise for a 16 year old," I said.  My voice broke.

"It's all the therapy.  They make us robots to spout out things like this and make unsuspecting people feel better," she joked.  I smiled.  "You're safe with me.  You can cry, if you want to," she said softly.  "You can also laugh, scream, curse at the top of your... well, that might not be a good idea.  You could get arrested," she joked, reminding me about a story in a newspaper I read about a kayaker who cursed loudly at Lake Michigan and was arrested.  I laughed.  Just as soon as I laughed, I began to cry again.  I put my head on Meg's shoulder and began to sob like a baby.  I hung on to dear life to this life preserver that I was given.

~~*~~

I calmed down a bit, and I knew I had to tell her.

"Meg, I've not been eating," I confessed.

"Why not?"

"I really don't know.  I think it's because I still feel guilty for what I did when I was 16."

"You don't feel worthy enough to eat?"

"Maybe.  I've, um, also been hitting my arms.  Leaving bruises," I said, all of a sudden finding the conch shell at my feet to be immensely interesting.

"Jess, look at me," Meg commanded.  Had my eyes been straight, I would have been looking at her.  But my eyes were still focused on the shell.  "Jess, look at me," she commanded again.  I do.  I expected to see anger and disappointment in her eyes, but surprisingly, I see empathy.  "I'm not mad at you.  I think you were expecting me to go off on a rampage, weren't you?"

I was.  She's doing the same thing I did to her when she was first admitted to the hospital.  I didn't block her off by me getting angry at her, and she's not getting angry at me, so I can't just retreat into my shell.

"Actually, yes.  I thought you'd also be disappointed," I said.  I hated how much I sounded like a small child.

"Jess, I could never be disappointed in you.  You're a doctor who saves lives.  You're a caring person.  You're my friend!" she said.  I'm so glad that I was proven wrong.  She didn't hate me.  I really smiled for the first time in a long while.

~~*~~

I hate playing football against Steve.  He usually either lets me win, or he pounds me into the sand, but I felt good enough to play football against him.

Even though he is letting me win.

"Steve, I'm not a fragile flower.  I'm not going to break.  Quit treating me with kid gloves, and actually play!" I said.

"All right, little boy.  You want full strength.  You got it," he said, teasing. "24, 45, 68, Manning, 23.  HIKE!" he chanted as he threw me the football.  I caught it easily, but before I could make it to the "goalpost" I was tackled.  And tickled.  Soon, Amanda and Mark joined to help Steve.

It felt great to be happy again.

~~*~~

I learned something about Meg today that I didn't know.  Harry Chapin is her favorite performer.

We were all sitting lazily on the deck, with the radio on, on one of Steve's stations, when a vaguely familiar song came on.

Meg sat bolt upright, gasped, and exclaimed, "Harry Chapin!"

Steve was surprised she knew who he is.

"You know who Harry Chapin is?" he asked, incredulously. 

"Who wouldn't?  I mean he was the greatest songwriter ever.  At least, in my, *ahem* humble opinion," she said.

"What's your favorite song?"

"Probably _Pigeon Run_.  It was actually in his Broadway play, _What Made America Famous?_ so not many people even know about it.  I also like _W.O.L.D_ and, of course _30,000 Pounds of Bananas_. And _Six-stringed Orchestra_. "

"Not even Dad listens to Harry much.  I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she said.

They both began to sing the song as I felt drawn to the words.

So much like my father.

And me.

I'm just like him.  _And as he hung up the phone, it occurred to me, my boy was just like me_. 

~~*~~

Meg is back at the Vista and I miss her already.  It's July 5th, and I've just got done with another Dr. May appointment.  Still more hiding, still more hating the pompous doctor, but I can sort of stand him now.

He wants to put me on anti-depressants, but I was put on those in the late 80's and the side effects were horrible.  My hands shook, I had horrible headaches, and I couldn't eat, and for me being small anyways, wasn't a good thing.  I stopped taking them after about 2 months, and pretended everything was all right, and I got to the point that I convinced myself of that.

"I don't want to take them," I argued with the great Dr. May.

"I can understand your reservations about not wanting to take them, but the side effect of the newer drugs aren't nearly as bad, and there is a much broader spectrum of options for you now."

I shook my head.  "I'm not going to take them.  I don't want to have to rely on a drug to function.  If I can't get that with psychotherapy, then I'm wasting my time," I said.

Dr. May looked at me, his lips thinned and white.  "I see our time is up.  We'll discuss this next time," he said.

That coward!  

"I'll see you next week," I said as I exited the office.

Thank goodness I was out of there.

I went to Mark's office because I said I would after my appointment.

"Hello Jess.  How'd it go?" he asked.

"Horrible.  He wants to put me on medicine.  I had enough of that when I was 16.  I can't tell you how horrible the side effects were.  Besides, I don't like the idea of having to take a medicine to function," I said.

"If you had diabetes, would you not take insulin because you didn't like the idea of taking medicine to function?" Mark asked.  Ok, he got me there.

"I would there, but this is different.  I don't want to turn into a walking drugged zombie," I said.

"There is a high chance you wouldn't," Mark said.  He sighed. "I'm not telling you that you should.  Just think about it, and talk to someone who's been on some type of anti-depressants," Mark said.

"Ok, Mark.  I'll think about it," I said.  "Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend" He smiled.  "Anytime."

~~*~~


	12. Mark's Request

I am FINALLY back for such a long hiatus.  School at the end was horrible with events with both Show Choir and Band occurring often on the same day.  I had 6 performances in 1 week, 5 Show Choir (full 1:30 hour shows), and 1 band concert.... etc.  It was hectic, and then school let out.  Let's just say that I was asleep more than I was awake for a week or two.  

Now, I'm involved with voice lessons, an acting class, and a new job as a carhop.  

This will probably be my last chapter for a while, as I'll be too busy to try to fit in everything.  So, until I post again, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing this story/autobiography... well, not so much a true autobiography, as I didn't drag anyone down the depths of depression with me...  Just think of Charles Dickens and his story _David Copperfield_.  Right now, this is the closest to an autobiography as I'll be able to write.   

Anyways, ta-ta for now, and thanks especially to Tracy who has reviewed and e-mailed me since the beginning of this story. 

~~~*~~~

Jesse isn't going to take the easy way.  He's refusing to be medicated.  I could see the validity in his opposition in not wanting to take anti-depressants, but I can also see the validity in him taking them.  It's a fine line to walk, and I don't begrudge Jesse of it.

He said that he would come by my office after he saw "The Great" Dr. May, so after his appointment, he came slinking in.

"Hello, Jess.  How'd it go?" I asked, concerned at the terse look in his eyes.

"Horrible. He wants to put me on medicine. I had enough of that when I was 16. I can't tell you how horrible the side effects were. Besides, I don't like the idea of having to take a medicine to function," he said, snarling his nose.

"If you had diabetes, would you not take insulin because you didn't like the idea of taking medicine to function?" I asked him, questioning the logic in his reasoning.  He looked like a trapped rat.

"I would there, but this is different. I don't want to turn into a walking drugged zombie," he said.

"There is a high chance you wouldn't," I said.  Jesse sighed. "I'm not telling you that you should.  Just think about it, and talk to someone who's been on some type of anti-depressants," I suggested.

"Ok, Mark.  I'll think about it," he said, conceding at least for the time being.  "Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend.  Anytime."

~~*~~

"Hey, Dad," Steve said after he came home from work.

"Hey Steve.  What's up?" I said, seeing the look in his eyes _I want to talk but I don't know how to approach the subject_.

"It's Jesse.  I know he's on the road to recovery, but that doesn't mean that I'm not worried about him," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

"It's scary, I know.  But he has his friends to help him," I assured him.

Steve nodded slightly.  He bit his bottom lip, still unsure about the whole thing.

I put my arm around his shoulder, and I could feel a bit of the trembling cease.  "I will do everything to help him, and I know you will do everything.  We will help him," I said.  He nodded, a bit surer.

~~*~~

When I first saw him back in the ER, working, I was worried.  But when the first trauma was rolled in, he seemed to be back to his old self.

"ABG, Chem panel, chest x-ray, o neg..." he barked out when a car crash victim rolled in.  An hour later, after the patient had been stabilized, Jesse sat in the doctor's lounge, looking tired and worn out.

"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned for his well being after all was said and done.

"Just tired.  Adrenalin let-down," he explained.

"And what else?" I asked, probing further.

"Just tired.  Nothing else," he said.  There was a _that I want to talk about_ tacked on to the end of that sentence.  

I nodded my head, knowing that pushing him too hard would drive him away.  I sat down across from him.

"I'm just so tired of it all," he said quietly a few minutes later.  "The pretending, the dark cloud that seems to never go away, the guilt of everything when I've done nothing wrong."  His voice broke slightly, and he took a deep breath.  "I'm so tired of it."

"Jesse..." I said, not knowing what to say.  "I'm here to help you fight, if you need me to," I said.

"Thanks, Mark."

~~*~~

*knock, knock*  "Mark?" a voice on the other side of my office door asked.

"Ramona," I said.  "Come in."

She stood shyly at the door before coming in.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Yes, anything," I said.  "Have a seat."

She sat in silence.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, trying to break the silence.

"Um, Jesse.  I'm worried about him.  I mean, I'm worried about Meg, of course, since I'm her mother, but Jesse, well, he's the closest thing to a friend Meg has ever had, and well, I feel kind of indebted to him because he helped save her life, and well," she rushed out before taking a breath.  She sat and took a deep breath and let it out.  "I just want to know if there is any way I can help Jesse," she said at last.

"Right now, he's being too stubborn to accept help.  He's going to therapy, but I think it's just with the illusion of "getting help".  Now, the only way to help him is to just be there when he either opens up or breaks down.  The more probable of the two is the latter," I admitted with a sigh.

"That's what I was afraid of," she said.  "I feel like this is all of my fault.  If I hadn't moved in the same building as Jesse lived, if I had been there for Meg, she wouldn't be so messed up, if I had chosen my boyfriends more wisely, then maybe..." she said, her voice cracking at the end.  
  


"Ramona, there is nothing you can do now," I said, circumventing the desk to put an arm on her shoulder.   "'What if' focuses on the past, and right now, the past isn't where you need to be.  You need to focus on now, and how you are going to help both Meg and Jesse."

She nodded, got up, and hugged me.  "Thank you, Mark," she whispered.  "For everything."


	13. Ramona's Recourse

I'm back from a long hiatus.  Now that my work is starting to cut some of my hours, I can have more time to myself, so I now have some time to write again.  I'll be out of town (and possibly away from internet) from Aug. 1st to Aug. 10th, so it'll probably be awhile before I have the next or so chapters up.  Also, once school starts back, I'll have band, work, The Literary Club, acting class, and voice lessons to go to, so chapters will be sparse until I get some more free time.  So read up, and enjoy, and I'll try to crank out a few more chapters before I leave for Chicago!

~~*~~

I don't know why I even went there.  It was pride, maybe.  I just got out of bed that morning, with a mission to do, and my mind (or God) wouldn't let me rest until I had finished what I needed to.

That's why I found myself standing out of Mark's office, my hand in a fist, as to knock.  I noticed it trembling before I started knocking.  "Mark?"

"Ramona," he said, recognizing my voice.  And why shouldn't he?  I had called him at 2 in the morning more than once to talk.  "Come in."

I stood by the door when I entered.  "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Yes, anything," he said.  He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.  "Have a seat."

I sat, not knowing how to approach the subject.

"What do you want to talk about?" Mark asked.

"Um, Jesse. I'm worried about him. I mean, I'm worried about Meg, of course, since I'm her mother, but Jesse, well, he's the closest thing to a friend Meg has ever had, and well, I feel kind of indebted to him because he helped save her life, and well," I rushed out quickly in case I lost the nerve.  I took a deep breath, let it out, and took another deep breath to help calm my nerves.  "I just want to know if there is any way I can help Jesse," I said at last.

"Right now, he's being too stubborn to accept help.  He's going to therapy, but I think it's just with the illusion of "getting help".  Now, the only way to help him is to just be there when he either opens up or breaks down.  The more probable of the two is the latter," he said.  My stomach knotted up.  Jesse always appeared to be so strong.  The thought of him breaking down is heart wrenching.  Like when Meg broke down.  Maybe that's why they both became good friends.

"That's what I was afraid of," I said.  "I feel like this is all of my fault.  If I hadn't moved in the same building as Jesse lived, if I had been there for Meg, she wouldn't be so messed up, if I had chosen my boyfriends more wisely, then maybe..." I said, breaking off because I felt close to tears.

Mark came over to my side of the desk to put his arm on my shoulder.  "Ramona, there is nothing you can do now," he said.  "'What if' focuses on the past, and right now, the past isn't where you need to be.  You need to focus on now, and how you are going to help both Meg and Jesse," he said, wisely.

I nodded, stood up, and hugged the man who had been my lifeline these past few months.  "Thank you, Mark.  For everything."

~~*~~

I felt much better after talking to Mark, as if a weight had been lifted, and it had.  It had been a week since I'd seen Meg, and I realized that it was time for another visit to the "facility".

She ran out to meet me, from the pool, dripping wet and freezing cold.  "MOM!" she exclaimed.  "You made it!"

"Of course, sweetie.  How has everything been since I saw you last?"

"Great.  For once, I'm starting to be happy.  Happy is something new, and surprisingly, a bit scary, but I like it."

"You look great," I said.  And she did.  Her bones weren't protruding as much, and despite her being freezing cold from the wet, her cheeks had a bit more color in them than even from the 4th of July picnic out at Mark's.  "Why don't you go and change in some dry, warm clothes.  You're freezing," I said.

"Ok.  Wait in the visitor's lounge, and I'll be out in a bit."

~*~

She came out in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.  Her excitement from earlier had dissipated a bit, but the joy was still evident on her face.

"So, how's everyone?"

"Mark, Steve, and Amanda are doing great," I started.

"And Jesse?"  
"Well, honey, he's been a bit depressed, but I think that he's doing a bit better.  He's in therapy now," I said, lying a bit about Jesse so Meg wouldn't worry too much.

"Good, so hopefully he'll be more 'emotionally regulated'."

We spent the rest of the visit discussing her progress.  "Oh!  Dr. Jones says that if I'm still progressing this well, that in a couple of weeks I can be moved to a half-way house!" she said.

"That's what she told me, too.  And Mr. Scotch is saying that he's pleased with how you've progressed," I said.

"Wow, Mr. Butter Scotch being pleased with something," she said, with a raised eyebrow. 

I couldn't help but chuckle at that.  The nurse announced that the visit was almost over, so I took Meg in my arms, and almost cut off the air supply, I hugged her so hard.  "I'm so proud of you.  You've been fighting to get well, and, honey, you have a lot of fight in you," I said, my eyes misting over.

"Thank you.  I love you, mom," she said, as we parted ways.

I'm so proud of her.  

~~*~~

It was stupidity how it happened.  I was on a chair, putting in a light bulb one minute, and the next minute, I'm on the floor, with a very painful ankle.  I tried to get up a couple of times, but I ended up back on the floor, in even more pain.  I resorted to crawling to the phone and calling Jesse.

"Hello," he said, as if I woke him up.

"I'm sorry to call you this early, but I woke up, and my bulb in my bathroom was out, so I went to change it, and somehow, I've twisted my ankle really badly," I gasped out.

"I'll be right there," he said, hanging up the phone.  I was on the floor, trying not to move my foot when he knocked on the door.  *DAMN*  It was locked.

"Jesse, there is a key on top of the door frame!" I yelled through the door.  In just a few minutes of him searching for the key, and actually unlocking it, he came in, and saw me.

"My ankle," I said.  He quickly bent down to examine my swollen right ankle, pressing his fingers to feel if it were broken or not.  He hit a particularly sore spot, and I said something that I would die if I heard Meg say it.

"I think it's broken, although I can't tell for sure until it's x-rayed," he said.  "Let me help you out to my car, and I can take you to Community General to get you checked out," he said as he helped me up.  It was a slow and painful walk, or hop, out to the car, but finally, we made it.  I practically collapsed in the front seat as he went over to the left side.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I know, we're in front of the hospital, and he has a wheelchair on my side.  After a few minutes of negotiating, to keep weight off my right foot, I finally got into the wheelchair, and was wheeled into a treatment room.

"Wait here until I get an x-ray room," he told me as he hurried off.  Amanda came by, saw me in the room, and came to talk.

"What did you do?" she asked, concerned.  

"I got beat up by the chair," I joked.  "Jesse's clearing out an x-ray room to check how bad I mangled up by ankle," I said, gesturing to the still swelling right ankle.

She winced at the sight.  "I hope you feel better.  I have to do an autopsy," she said as she exited.  I was in so much pain, I just waved her away.

Jesse rushed in a few minutes later, announcing a cleared x-ray room, and whisked me off in the wheelchair.

~~*~~

He held up an x-ray film up to the light, and announced, "Yep, it's broken.  It's not going to be easy to set, and I'd recommend surgery to fix it."

"How long will the surgery be?"

"About 2 hours.  We'll go in, put a couple of pins in to stabilize the bone, and then close it up," he explained.

"Will you be in there?" I asked.

"Yes, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Ok, I'll do it," I said.  I don't like the idea of surgery, but knowing Jesse will be assisting made me feel a lot better about the whole idea.

The next couple of hours were a blur, preparing for surgery, calling Meg to let her know, etc.  Then, finally, I was in the operating room.  The last thing I remember was the mast coming over my face and being told to count backwards from 100.


End file.
